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I despise locks. Loathe. Detest. Dread. I've been locked out from everything I've wanted my entire life. No, Bartre, you can't use the library at night, even to read the folios! Don't kick the lab door Bartre, it's padlocked! I'm doing science! I don't have time for your stupid rehearsals! Bartre, the filing cabinets are locked for a reason! If we knew about your parents we would have told you!
Bah! And here, another lock. It mocks me, rust stained like the blood I can't wash from the cracks and crannies of my knuckles. Okay, you decrepit piece of shit, challenge accepted.
“Should we try and -” Calvin starts, always hogging the lead role, but I cut him off.
“We need to break into this barn.” I wave my hand towards the lock for emphasis. Cue shrugs.
“Whatever. Just be quiet about it.”
Cal, with the same bemused grin he's always giving me, just nods. I brandish my lead pipe, resisting the urge to bash the lock with my brass-lined fist. This time, Cue gives me the 'you're insane' look.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“With this? Cupid, darling, you're the scientist! You should know, it's a lever! I shall pry the lock straight off the door!” I get the look from both of them. I brush it off in stride; I've gotten worse rotten tomatoes in my time. Actually, a tomato, rotten or otherwise, would be great right now...
Ignoring the lurching in my stomach, I wedge my pipe through the lock. I take a deep breath, rotunda, through the nostrils. Exhaling, I pull the pipe with both hands. The lock doesn't give. I breath again, deeper, over-emphasizing the expansion in my ribs and chest. I pull harder. Still, it doesn't give. I rip air through my nose with so much force it stings and brace one foot on the door. I pull with all my (vast amount) of force. The lock rattles against rotting wood, but refuses to break despite it's rust.
“Euuurgh!” I throw the pipe against the barn, denting the wood with a burst of splinters. “Oh villain, oh villian! Smiling, damned villain!” I curse the lock and it's smug refusal to do my bidding, spitting.
I hear Cal choking a laugh. Cue hisses at me to be quiet.
“Oh, whatever toots. Like you could do any better.” I glare at her. I'm always glaring at her; I wish I wasn't.
“I could, as a matter of fact!” she pulls a mine from her pack.
“Whoa, now!” Calvin steps in between Cupid and the door, putting up his arms in protest. “Let's be rational, here. Bartre did a number on the door when he threw that pipe at it, I bet we could break it down without explosives.” Cue looks dejected.
Cal moves to hack at the door with his blade, but again I stop him from stealing the show. “Please, let me.” I take a step back from the door .
“Is it possible, you ask? Ha!” I tense my left foot. “If this were played upon a stage, now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction!” I swing, crashing my foot into the middle of the door. A loud groan accompanies the sound of my boot against wood as the door's hinges burst. I am filled with delight as the rotting wood shatters against the ground.
More raised eyebrows; does nothing please these two?!
“Well, it works, anyway.” Cal shrugs, stepping over my handiwork (footiwork?) and into the barn. I extend my arm to Cue, gesturing for her to lock hers with mine. She ignores it, following Cal inside.
“I think you misinterpreted that last line, Bartre.” she says, without turning back.
Sigh. Does no one appreciate art anymore?
~-~-~
The acoustics here were terrible. I was almost starting to miss Hamlet. It figures that Cue gets to reap the benefits of my hard work; I think she thinks of me as a lab assistant, oblivious and loyal to a fault. Whatever the reason, though, she's half of the only friends I've got.
Cue and Cal were busy fiddling with whatever the hell the tank-things that lined the barn's walls were. Well, Cue was. Cal was mostly standing around watching (per usual). I paced around the back of the barn, doing gee-yahs and mee-nees and other embarrassing vocal exercises. Practice was the only time I was glad to be ignored by my companions. I'd no clue when our next performance would be, but life had been nothing but overflowing with surprises since our escape. I'd be damned to botch lines for the brand new audiences being given to me.
I'd just reached my favorite bit of Hamlet's monologues when my foot caught something on the floor, sending me chest-first into the dusty dirt floor. “Damned, smiling villian!” I cursed, and cursed again when I realized I'd used that line already. Neither Cue nor Cal turned to see if I was okay. Of course. I lied there in the mess for a moment, contemplating the floor, my friends and my life, before noticing what had tripped me. A wooden hatch, uncovered from caked layers of debris by my pacing.
“What's this?!” Finally, a reward for all my talent and devotion? Eagerly, I tossed the hatch open. The spoils unearthed left me once again disappointed. Gasoline, and quite a bit of it. Dejected, I again feel as if Cupid reaps the rewards of my labors.
I despise locks. Loathe. Detest. Dread. I've been locked out from everything I've wanted my entire life.
No, Bartre, you can't use the library at night, even to read the folios! Don't kick the lab door Bartre, it's padlocked! I'm doing science! I don't have time for your stupid rehearsals! Bartre, the filing cabinets are locked for a reason! If we knew about your parents we would have told you!
Bah! And here, another lock. It mocks me, rust stained like the blood I can't wash from the cracks and crannies of my knuckles. Okay, you decrepit piece of shit, challenge accepted.
“Should we try and -” Calvin starts, always hogging the lead role, but I cut him off.
“We need to break into this barn.” I wave my hand towards the lock for emphasis. Cue shrugs.
“Whatever. Just be quiet about it.”
Cal, with the same bemused grin he's always giving me, just nods. I brandish my lead pipe, resisting the urge to bash the lock with my brass-lined fist. This time, Cue gives me the 'you're insane' look.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“With this? Cupid, darling, you're the scientist! You should know, it's a lever! I shall pry the lock straight off the door!” I get the look from both of them. I brush it off in stride; I've gotten worse rotten tomatoes in my time. Actually, a tomato, rotten or otherwise, would be great right now...
Ignoring the lurching in my stomach, I wedge my pipe through the lock. I take a deep breath, rotunda, through the nostrils. Exhaling, I pull the pipe with both hands. The lock doesn't give. I breath again, deeper, over-emphasizing the expansion in my ribs and chest. I pull harder. Still, it doesn't give. I rip air through my nose with so much force it stings and brace one foot on the door. I pull with all my (vast amount) of force. The lock rattles against rotting wood, but refuses to break despite it's rust.
“Euuurgh!” I throw the pipe against the barn, denting the wood with a burst of splinters. “Oh villain, oh villian! Smiling, damned villain!” I curse the lock and it's smug refusal to do my bidding, spitting.
I hear Cal choking a laugh. Cue hisses at me to be quiet.
“Oh, whatever toots. Like you could do any better.” I glare at her. I'm always glaring at her; I wish I wasn't.
“I could, as a matter of fact!” she pulls a mine from her pack.
“Whoa, now!” Calvin steps in between Cupid and the door, putting up his arms in protest. “Let's be rational, here. Bartre did a number on the door when he threw that pipe at it, I bet we could break it down without explosives.” Cue looks dejected.
Cal moves to hack at the door with his blade, but again I stop him from stealing the show. “Please, let me.” I take a step back from the door .
“Is it possible, you ask? Ha!” I tense my left foot. “If this were played upon a stage, now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction!” I swing, crashing my foot into the middle of the door. A loud groan accompanies the sound of my boot against wood as the door's hinges burst. I am filled with delight as the rotting wood shatters against the ground.
More raised eyebrows; does nothing please these two?!
“Well, it works, anyway.” Cal shrugs, stepping over my handiwork (footiwork?) and into the barn. I extend my arm to Cue, gesturing for her to lock hers with mine. She ignores it, following Cal inside.
“I think you misinterpreted that last line, Bartre.” she says, without turning back.
Sigh. Does no one appreciate art anymore?
~-~-~
The acoustics here were terrible. I was almost starting to miss Hamlet. It figures that Cue gets to reap the benefits of my hard work; I think she thinks of me as a lab assistant, oblivious and loyal to a fault. Whatever the reason, though, she's half of the only friends I've got.
Cue and Cal were busy fiddling with whatever the hell the tank-things that lined the barn's walls were. Well, Cue was. Cal was mostly standing around watching (per usual). I paced around the back of the barn, doing gee-yahs and mee-nees and other embarrassing vocal exercises. Practice was the only time I was glad to be ignored by my companions. I'd no clue when our next performance would be, but life had been nothing but overflowing with surprises since our escape. I'd be damned to botch lines for the brand new audiences being given to me.
I'd just reached my favorite bit of Hamlet's monologues when my foot caught something on the floor, sending me chest-first into the dusty dirt floor. “Damned, smiling villian!” I cursed, and cursed again when I realized I'd used that line already. Neither Cue nor Cal turned to see if I was okay. Of course. I lied there in the mess for a moment, contemplating the floor, my friends and my life, before noticing what had tripped me. A wooden hatch, uncovered from caked layers of debris by my pacing.
“What's this?!” Finally, a reward for all my talent and devotion? Eagerly, I tossed the hatch open. The spoils unearthed left me once again disappointed. Gasoline, and quite a bit of it. Dejected, I again feel as if Cupid reaps the rewards of my labors.